Nothing is Safe
by jaxink
Summary: Fear the destroyer. Nothing is safe from his touch. -oneshot-


Disclaimer: Don't own it.

_A/N: Prompt: Write from the POV of a coffee maker that short-circuited, or any other appliance, if you wish. I chose a different appliance, as you'll quickly see._

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**Nothing is Safe**

It's early in the morning. It always is when I stir to life.

There's the quiet hum of the refrigerator. There's the distant drip of pipes. There's the soft glow of the numbers on the coffee maker.

One more minute until 6 AM, it says. One more minute until it will idly click to life, and it will begin to make the caffeinated brew. One more minute until the solitude of the kitchen will shatter.

**Click.**

That would be the coffee maker.

**Beep, beep, beep, beep.**

That would be their alarm clocks going off.

**Swish.**

That would be the tail of the rat gently moving back and forth as he makes his way into the kitchen. Next, the maker will come.

I don't mind the maker. He knows what he's doing — at least in the kitchen. The maker of things in the kitchen murmurs, "Good morning," to the rat.

His master responds with a nod.

Silently, they continue their routine, carefully dancing around the movements of the other. The tea pot has the attention of the rat, as it warms pleasantly on the burner of the stove. Heat emanates from its center and teases the water within to a scathing temperature.

The maker moves gracefully from counter to fridge, cabinet to counter, shelf to fridge. He has carefully assembled various food items. I wonder if I'll be of use today…

My musings are answered as a loaf of bread joins the items on the counter. Sorting through the items, the maker finally reaches the bread and removes two slices from the package. He approaches me, drops in the bread, and eases them down to allow my coils to warm and toast them. His attention is immediately drawn away from me as his eggs begin to sizzle in the pan on the burner.

That's all right. I have work to do.

My coils slowly crackle to life, casting an emanation of burning orange and electric blue. The familiar, tingling buzz fills my inner workings as the bread slices turn brown and crisp. They're just the way the maker prefers, so I release the tense trigger with a _pop_! The maker's head turns at the sound and pulls the toast free from the slots. Winding down, my coils continue to snap, hiss, and buzz. It won't be long until the breaker comes.

A door slams, and I know he approaches. Pausing in the doorway, the breaker rubs at his eyes. The rat has already disappeared back into his lodgings, while the maker has seated himself at the table with a well-balanced breakfast. I wonder if I will have to endure the breaker's rough treatment today; it depends entirely on his appetite. As he pulls open the freezer and sets his gaze upon the frozen waffles, I know I'm not to be spared from his antics this morning.

Ripping open the waffle box with little decorum, the breaker unwraps four frozen waffles. Please, let him practice patience this morning. Alas, it is not meant to be. Abruptly, he stuffs two waffles into each of my slots, forcing them in. How uncomfortable! The breaker is always impatient, unwilling to take the time to use my settings properly. He turns the knob to the highest heat setting and moves away from me. The breaker immediately becomes preoccupied with securing a glass of orange juice.

Not a good idea to leave me unattended. He should be keeping an eye on these waffles. My coils ache, furiously trying to toast the waffles, but as a result, my inner workings are overheating with nowhere for the heat to escape. The waffles are taking up too much space!

I hear the maker warn the breaker to come save the waffles. Smoke has begun to rise from them. Save the waffles? What about _me_?

With a curse, the breaker lunges over and clenches his fingers tightly around me. Spun around upside down, I am mercilessly shaken until the waffles come free. Once they fall to the counter, blackened and steam rising from them, he roughly places me back down. Feeling rattled, but whole, I know I narrowly escaped being broken by the breaker. So far, the morning hasn't been too bad, but there was still the arrival of the destroyer to wait for.

Every appliance fears him. He has no sense, no caution, no knowledge… He cannot comprehend the workings of power settings on the microwave. He does not understand temperature settings on the oven when baking. Nor does he understand how the refrigerator light works. Such knowledge is only wasted upon the destroyer. I pray to whatever appliance gods watch over me that I will be spared this morning. Perhaps he will skip breakfast this morning. It isn't unusual for the destroyer to be too preoccupied with whatever activities they partake of in the fight room, as we call it in the kitchen.

My luck has appeared to run out. The destroyer cometh.

He strides into the kitchen — tall and confident. The maker and the breaker have already departed, having finished their meals. After a few minutes of flitting from fridge to cabinets, the destroyer has chosen. This isn't my morning at all. He brings forth a box of Pop Tarts. He has two options: to warm it via the microwave, or to rely upon me to warm it. My coils quake as he approaches my side of the counter. I would glare at the smug microwave if I could. A single Pop Tart falls into one of the slots, and the setting choice is made as it slides down with a resounding click. The destroyer does the same as the breaker and goes for a glass of orange juice.

I haven't exploded yet! Perhaps there is still hope of coming out of this morning unscathed.

With a pop, I announce to the destroyer his Pop Tart is ready. Happily humming, the destroyer reaches for the toaster pastry, but pauses.

_Oh no_. I did not realize. He put the Pop Tart in sideways. My slots are too deep for him to retrieve it without touching the burning sides within. I try not to worry, waiting for the destroyer to do the same as the breaker and turn me upside down to dump out the item. But the action never comes. Idly, the destroyer rummages through a drawer.

What is he doing?

Finally stilling, the destroyer pulls out a fork. Oh my, please don't let him do that — not that — _the fool_! Using the fork as an extension to reach the Pop Tart, he attempts to fish it out. Unplug me! At least unplug me! No such occurrence is to be.

I'm _doomed_.

Digging around with the prongs of the fork to get underneath the Pop Tart, the destroyer does the inevitable. The points of the fork come into contact with one of my tightly wound coils. Sparks begin to fly and smoke erupts. In a panic, the destroyer retracts the fork, but the action is too late to save me — or him. He receives a nasty shock, which in turn causes him to involuntarily jerk. The movement knocks me off the counter, wrenches my plug from the outlet, and I plummet to the floor.

The destroyer stares down at my smoking carcass, utterly horrified. Whistling nonchalantly, he backs away toward the doorway and turns to run. Look at what I have been reduced to! A worthless pile of scrap. How embarrassing!

But fate is kind, and the fixer arrives just in time. Not looking surprised at all having found me in a wreck on the floor, the fixer gently lifts me. He looks over the damage wrought by the destroyer, shakes his head, and carries me out of the kitchen. I spot the comforting sight of the repair area ruled by the fixer. I will be safe here, untouched by the others until I am ready for use once more. Almost affectionately, the fixer gives me a pat before leaving me and returning to the kitchen.

Yes, the fixer will repair me, but not even he can fix me to withstand the disparaging powers of the destroyer. No appliance is ever safe.

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_A/N: If it was unclear, Michelangelo — Maker, Raphael — Breaker, Leonardo — Destroyer, and Donatello — Fixer._


End file.
